


The Blood of Angels

by I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning



Series: Blood of Angels Multiverse [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angel Obi-Wan, Blood Drinking, Gen, Horror, M/M, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Self-Harm, beatings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 06:29:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10077461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning/pseuds/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning
Summary: Vader, Emperor of the galaxy and a vampire, has wanted his master's blood for a long time. It's been a long, merciless hunt.And Obi-Wan, angel and brokenhearted Jedi, has trouble finding reasons to run anymore.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story does not take place within the Undead Chosen One universe. Different Vampire Anakin, different backstory. Plus this Obi-Wan has wings. Which is only ever good in my book.

 

When he felt the shudder down his back that signaled the arrival of Vader, Obi-Wan Kenobi found himself at a loss.

This had happened so many times over the last several years.

Each time, he ran.

His brother always just steps behind him.

He was _tired._

He had very little left. The Jedi were gone— he hadn't found a single survivor. Padmé was gone. The children. Apparently she'd been carrying twins. Freedom was gone. Every time Obi-Wan tried to help the rebelling cells to try to form some sort of cohesive group, something terrible happened.

Vader always seemed to find those that Obi-Wan contacted.

At this point, if the Rebellion was to have any hope of success, the Jedi had to stay away and know nothing about it.

After Vader had killed Bail and his wife to express his displeasure with Obi-Wan...

_I have nothing left to fight for._

His gut screamed that he should flee. That if he moved _now_ he could still _make it—_

But he was finding it hard to scrape together enough care to bother.

And then it was too late.

Obi-Wan could feel the presence standing behind him, the room seemed to dim, as if a mist had passed over the lamp.

A hand caressed the side of his neck. No breath stirred Obi-Wan's hair.

The gesture, almost like a lover's, moved, and now the cold fingers wrapped around his throat.

Again the panic arose, and even though Obi-Wan's will kept him from struggling...

No amount of courage could still the quiver in his wings.

Vader breathed a laugh, low and velvet.

His other fingers traced the curve of a wing, ghosting over feathers.

“At last,” he whispered, and _now_ air left the dead one's lungs.

Its crumbling touch instantly left Obi-Wan chilled, the place it fell on the nape of his neck feeling frostbitten.

The fingers around his throat squeezed, just enough pressure to hurt.

 

* * *

 

His master felt alone.

Alone, and completely helpless.

The dread coursing through the veins, the labored breath through the constricted throat—

Vader's eyelids fluttered shut against the heady drug of it all.

The chase had dragged on far too long.

He'd tired of it years ago.

Rough, he spun Obi-Wan to face him and slammed him into the wall. A tiny noise escaped the older man as his wings struck hard, then were crushed by his body, held with Vader's inexorable hand.

The Sith had always loved those wings.

As a child, they had sheltered him. Protected him. Comforted him. The feathers had felt warm against his icy skin, a promise of life despite the fact he would never experience it for himself.

An angel had taken in a vampire. Raised it like his own.

The wings meant something different now.

They reminded Vader of that final fight on Mustafar.

Defeated, staring death in the face, Obi-Wan had _run._

He hadn't stayed to see Vader kill the man who thought the fallen Chosen One could be contained. He hadn't stayed to see Vader mourn over his wife's death.

Hadn't stayed to comfort him as he drained her corpse, needing to taste her life before the warmth disappeared...

“You abandoned me,” Vader rumbled, golden eyes narrowing. “You were my father. You should have fallen with me. Those wings could be a beautiful white now.”

The color of death, instead of the black of life.

Obi-Wan shuddered but refused to reply.

_Maybe I should have turned him._

Maybe with blood lust coursing through his master's veins, he would have focused on himself enough to fall.

_Even now, at the end, he thinks of others first._

It was infuriating.

It was condemning.

 _I'd like to see_ you _retain your precious light when the hunger burns your mind._

Then again, once he tasted his master's blood, after a lifetime of desiring it—

There would be no stopping.

He'd consumed so much blood since Mustafar, struggling to slake the craving he felt.

It wouldn't be satisfied by anything short of _this_ man's life.

The rest had the taste of dust.

An angel.

One of the last.

Perhaps _the_ last.

Hunted to extinction by Anakin Skywalker's people, consumed with almost religious fervor.

There'd been a time when the other beings of the galaxy had been safe. No sane vampire would feed from a human.

They were too spoiled by angel blood.

Now merely tales remained of the golden age. Envy and hatred towards those lucky bastards who had left the universe so empty of something so beautiful.

Obi-Wan stared up at him with broken blue eyes. Eyes that would _never_ turn gold.

Anger ran through Vader.

Obi-Wan had loved Anakin. But he hadn't the fixation with self to fall with him. His love was too selfless. Too focused on _Anakin_ to be useful.

And as much as Vader craved the thought of Obi-Wan ruling the galaxy by his side, his wings a snowy white and his eyes a vicious amber—

It would never happen.

And that was Obi-Wan's fault.

Just like most everything else.

Obi-Wan knew the moment when Vader was done playing. The Jedi tensed—

Vader drove his teeth into his master's jugular, his steadying hands relishing the jerk of pain Obi-Wan suffered in response.

No sooner had fangs opened the wound, than he pulled them free, embracing the punctures with his lips and worrying them with his tongue.

Another hiss of pain from his master, _perfect,_ so perfect—

_Yes—_

_Writhe_ against his hold, little Jedi—

The pain robbing Obi-Wan of his ability to shield, Vader caught glimpses of the other's thoughts.

Desperate cries for Qui-Gon to meet him on the other side.

Qui-Gon.

Angel blood was everything Anakin had ever heard and _more—_ he didn't have _words_ for it.

Without a doubt, Qui-Gon Jinn had provided well for his little Ani.

Obi-Wan's hands, which had been clenched into fists by his sides, relaxed as oxygen became scarce. One traveled up to cradle the back of Vader's head, ghosting across the junction between neck and hair. The other came to rest on his shoulder.

Not to push him back, but almost in encouragement.

While sometimes humans and rodians would have a pleasure response to being drained, their survival instincts fundamentally flawed—

Angels had no such handicap.

Vader could sense Obi-Wan's agony, increasing with every second, as bad as the burns of a world cruel enough to have _two_ suns— as horror-inducing as having the Jedi Order's symbol held against one's skin, eating away at flesh like acid—

But Obi-Wan was pressing into the pain, surrendering to the torment. Experiencing _relief_ that finally, it would be over.

Unacceptable.

There were so many things this man should be _punished_ for.

He dragged his mouth away, clapping a hand over the wound to try to still the bleeding.

No longer held up, Obi-Wan's knees didn't deign to hold him.

Vader caught him, blood spilling up between his fingers, the scent of it almost enough to drive him mad.

Obi-Wan would have to be punished for _this_ too.

This was far too cruel to be forgiven.

Vader tore feathers from the ebon wings, ignoring Obi-Wan's shriek of pain. Pressing the downy constructs into the punctures, Vader found the closest pressure point and used his other set of fingers.

Undoubtedly his master would bruise.

Good.

 

* * *

 

The universe hadn't been kind enough to allow Obi-Wan Kenobi to pass out.

He wasn't surprised.

He'd been warned, long ago.

He felt his saber's crystal mourning over him. It suffered as much as he did.

So many crystals had to live on after their person died.

He hoped Vader would have mercy on this one, and crush it once he finally snuffed out Obi-Wan's breath.

There would be no reason to spare it, to leave it whole except cruelty.

The joy of hearing it cry.

And if Vader wanted to hear it scream...

Blood would spill through the blade, spattering the blue until the former color was snuffed from memory. Just another of the countless swords forced to bond with someone they hadn't chosen.

Obi-Wan could hear the stuttered whimpers from Vader's own saber.

The saber he'd crafted as a Jedi.

The crystal had suffered for too long.

Its screams had fallen pathetically silent.

Obi-Wan didn't have to see that saber ignited to know what color he would find.

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A part 2 to this story. This brings us into genuine Vaderwan, non-graphic noncon, and some Vader-using-Obi-Wan-as-a-punchbag. I'm leaving the rating as M, because the violence is not blow-by-blow. If anyone, upon reading this, things I should up the rating, I will be happy to do so.
> 
> Obi-Wan attempts self-harm to protect himself from rape. I'm updating the tags to reflect these new warnings. Looking for unhappy Vaderwan? There's plenty here.

 

 

Deep in the light of every blade there lie runes, like letters in a fire.

Only the person the crystal has chosen can read them, the words vibrating in tune with but one individual's soul.

Qui-Gon had never believed in the sigils, had not asked for Obi-Wan's before taking him as his apprentice.

And then, when Obi-Wan hesitantly mentioned what his said two years later, Qui-Gon brushed it aside as meaningless.

“Mine says  _blindness,_ ” he'd shrugged. “Don't expect too much from your runes.”

Obi-Wan had lived for years with the silent pondering of whether Qui-Gon was right or not.

And then, with his second-to-last breath, Qui-Gon whispered, “I die seeing.”

Clearly, his master felt he'd proven the age-old superstition false.

Perhaps Obi-Wan should have been expecting the question from Anakin when it came. He'd been hearing the excited guesses as to what color his crystal would choose for them for the previous week.

Anakin ignited his newly-made saber, staring into the clear blue, confusion blinking into his eyes.

The saber fell silent, and Anakin looked up at his master with a searching gaze. “What does yours say?”  
Obi-Wan found himself speechless.

Anakin was fourteen now, and nearly as tall as Obi-Wan himself. Obi-Wan stared into those eyes and discovered a truth about himself.

He'd lived with the weight of his words all his life.

He was unwilling to burden another child with that same doubt.

If Qui-Gon'd had his way, the child Obi-Wan had been would not have had to endure it either.

_I will not inflict it on Qui-Gon's chosen child._

So he smiled, and promised that some day, they would tell one another. And when Anakin asked when, Obi-Wan reached for the marker of emotional adulthood.

The day Anakin was knighted.

“That could be before I'm eighteen, right?”

“It could be, but it's very unusual.”

Anakin considered it, nodded, and he didn't need to announce aloud his intention to pull it off.

It was a year after Anakin's goal when the Council decided to let him step out on his own.

Obi-Wan feared Anakin's soul wasn't ready, but no one could deny that to hang on to this partnership longer would only be to travel backwards. Obi-Wan hoped Anakin could grow up fast enough to endure all that was going to be thrown at him in short order.

They stood in Obi-Wan's room, Anakin staring down at him, expression sober.

Obi-Wan allowed himself to lose the character traits Anakin was still lacking, focusing only on the positive characteristics this young man possessed.

It didn't take long to drive the fear from his heart. Beaming with pride, Obi-Wan said they could exchange words now.

 

* * *

 

Anakin had been sure Obi-Wan would “forget,” but no... and he loved him for it.

_We are equals now._

It was time.

He drew in a breath to listen.

“Infinite sadness.”

Anakin stared at him for two beats— he was  _smiling,_ of all things—

Obi-Wan's lips parted again, and what came out was, “What's yours?”

 

* * *

 

Anakin walked out of their shared living space and locked himself in his own room.

For a moment Obi-Wan stood frozen, baffled, and then he followed him.

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan knocked on the door. “Are you alright? What's wrong? What did I say?”

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan jolted awake, feeling like he was choking.

It was a false pain, conjured by a mind that desperately needed sleep but couldn't find it.

Obi-Wan could hear the mourning of his saber's crystal, somewhere not close enough to soothe.

Just because it had been the one to foresee his suffering didn't mean it wanted it to occur. It had chosen Obi-Wan in spite of knowing what his fate would be.

He reached out in the Force to offer comfort to it, knowing it would be the only friend he would have for a long time.

Perhaps the last.

 

* * *

 

Vader stared down at his saber, glowing red and broken, the word written like an accusation against his soul.

Growing up, he'd assumed it meant something other than he now knew it did. Hearing Obi-Wan's matching prophecy had shattered his childhood illusion.

The phrase on Tatooine often meant  _family._ Anakin had assumed it meant his future would be as Obi-Wan's son. He'd been banking on that for years.

And then Obi-Wan had spoken.

The words seemed to melt and drip in his blade, almost too bright to look upon directly.

_“Obi-Wan's blood.”_

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan sensed a pang of regret in the man he once trusted more than he trusted himself, and then it was gone, lost in rage.

Bracing himself, Obi-Wan hoped to die and knew it would not come. Death had abandoned him, left him to the cruel tendermercies of Life.

Obi-Wan dragged himself to his feet, his chains rattling against the cold stone of the floor and wall.

A castle on Mustafar. That's where he was, buried deep in its digesting depths. The twin peaks of the tower resonated the dark side of the Force, inaudible to those not Force sensitive, but to Obi-Wan it felt like a high-pitched ringing in his brain and ears, a whine that never went away.

It was cold. Physically dark.

He was in pain, always.

He waited for Vader to return, to beat him again.

His expectation was not left without resolution. The slightest hint of regret in Vader always sparked this off. He was cruelest after remembering love.

Half an hour later Obi-Wan hung from his wrists, the cuffs carving deep wounds, his breath heaving as Vader prowled around him.

“Tell me how you failed me,” Vader demanded. “ _Tell me._ ”

Obi-Wan squinted at him through swelling eyes. “I loved you. That is all I could do. The rest was up to you.”

Another blow to the stomach. Obi-Wan grunted, blood dripping in his eye. He blinked it away—

“Turn, Force  _damn_ it, and rule at my side!”

Obi-Wan looked away.

They'd had this conversation before. It was pointless to expend the energy now.

Fingers of stone seized his jaw and forced his head around. That was going to hurt tomorrow.

“Darkness is  _close,_ Obi-Wan,” Vader whispered, staring at his lips. “It's selfishness.”

Obi-Wan really wasn't seeing his  _point._

His confusion infuriated Vader. “Put yourself  _first,_ Obi-Wan, how hard can that  _be_ ?!” he snarled, slamming his lips against Obi-Wan's.

Panic seized the Jedi and he tried to writhe away, wings beating at his attacker. Vader seized them and pinned them down, causing pain as he forced muscle and bone—

“ _No,_ ” Obi-Wan screeched, struggling more fiercely _—_

Vader's eyes held no mercy. “Fight for yourself. You going to just let me use your body as I will? First as a punching bag and winecup and now as a frip toy?”

Terror flooded Obi-Wan's eyes as he fought, every dirty trick he knew, every negotiating plea, every Force attack—

And when it became clear Vader would overpower him, Obi-Wan flung his efforts into self-harm.

That seemed to catch Vader by surprise.

Forearms slashed open distracted him from his prize, the need to stay the bleeding and remove all potentially hazardous materials from Obi-Wan's vicinity interrupting his assault.

Obi-Wan had a week to think it over before Vader visited again.

This time, when he arrived, Obi-Wan crouched low, a vicious defiance in his eyes that erased the numb despair he'd had all times previous.

 

* * *

 

It wasn't passive submission, but it wasn't anger either.

It was Obi-Wan, backed into a corner, and turning to his absolute and unbreaking stubbornness.

For a moment Vader simply stood there and observed him, taking in the healing wounds all over his body, the way his wings didn't fold the whole way back, the way Obi-Wan's fingers were curled into claws as if his next plan was to attack Vader with fingernails and teeth.

“Darkness is here, all around you,” Vader murmured yet again. Obi-Wan squinted, and Vader guessed that his head hurt too much to allow an eye-roll.

_Respect suits him._

“You can save yourself.” Vader smiled down at his own fingernails, perfectly trimmed yet so terribly sharp— “All you have to do is take what is held out.”

There was a tremor in the beautiful wings, but Obi-Wan's expression didn't shift.

_I know. I know no pain would drive you there,_ he thought, his internal voice almost crooning.  _But you deserve the pain._

So that would come first.

Once again he punished Obi-Wan for running, for betraying him, for refusing to Fall.

Obi-Wan reached the point where he could no longer fight, simply gasping for air, his body heaving with pain, huddled against the wall.

It was time.

Obi-Wan needed to be utterly,  _completely_ humiliated. Even now, pain-dulled eyes glared at him with an unmistakable defiance.

Eyes that should be  _gold,_ wings that should be  _white—_

Allegiance that should be  _Vader's._

So he showed him. Showed him with all the vicious, single-minded focus Vader possessed.

When he walked away sated, he could see he'd stolen something from his former master.

There was something missing.

Vader would feel more triumphant if he could actually figure out  _what_ it was.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan slid to the floor, the agony too much.

Silent tears stained the stone, and Obi-Wan thanked the Force Qui-Gon and Satine were dead.

At least they couldn't see him like this.

Torn, come leaking from his abused body, wings bruised and broken, he tried to keep silent, the last thing he wanted was to gratify Vader with weeping—

The sobs won the day, even if they were muffled, crushed by his arm to the point where they were whimpers more than anything else. Feathers scratched against the floor as his wings writhed with the force of his loss.

 

* * *

 

His master was no match for Vader's strength. No match at all.

It took so much effort and restraint to feed and then pull back. To leave Obi-Wan enough to survive.

_If he dies... you'll never find another angel again._

That would be a wretched existence indeed.

There came a day when Obi-Wan stopped trying to resist. When his eyes, marred by too much time alone in the dark, found Vader's face and simply waited. His skin felt almost as cold as Vader's, and if it weren't for his species' near-unbreakable immune systems, Obi-Wan would have been sniffling non-stop, ill all the time.

He let Vader strike him, waiting for it to be over without a word of complaint. When Vader reached for his throat, Obi-Wan tipped his head to give him better access.

And even when Vader's fingers gripped the bony hip...

Even then he didn't resist.

He let his head hang—

And silent tears escaped as Vader used and discarded him as roughly as ever.

 

* * *

 

There were days when Vader behaved almost affectionate, where his touch was gentle, and when he violated him, he took the time to prepare.

Vader actually seemed to think that somehow equated to love.

Obi-Wan suffered in silence, having discovered long ago that to challenge him in his theory was to result in agony.

The pain was so continuous now, it simply wasn't worth incurring more for such a small reason.

The gentle days were punctuated by ones where Vader's plans went awry, when his demands had not been met by his subservient Empire—

 

* * *

 

Those were the days when Vader would come to him and take his frustration out on the soft wings, the beautiful body. And then, when his rage drained away, he would kiss away Obi-Wan's ragged moans of pain, soothing him with whispered words of adoration.

On the days when Obi-Wan was lucky, Vader would leave the spoken words there.

On the days when he wasn't...

Vader would urge him, softly, gently, to turn to the dark, to _join_ him, to rule by his side—

“I have room for a second Emperor. You will be glorious, magnificent, they will love you—”

Obi-Wan would never answer.

Sometimes Vader would storm from the room, his desire to find comfort in the clenching embrace of his Master's ass driven away by frustration.

Other times Vader would beat him again.

Today, he had Obi-Wan pressed face-first into the wall, and his lover was anticipating something to penetrate him any moment now.

Vader smiled to himself a little.  _So eager._

His Master always pretended to hate this, he flooded the Force with just how unhappy and betrayed he wanted to seem. The mask was so good, so  _clever,_ so complete Vader might have believed it, except he knew his lover.

Obi-Wan wanted this.

He'd asked for it.

Today, Vader felt in a benevolent mood. He set the arm he'd broken a half hour ago, he smoothed the feathers he'd bent...

He even put bacta on the week-old jagged gash on the back of Obi-Wan's calf.

_Not everyone is as pampered as you,_ he smiled as he worked, delighted with his own magnanimity.

Most Sith would have killed Obi-Wan by now.

Vader wouldn't give up. He  _would_ see Obi-Wan on a throne, no matter how many years it took to bring him there—

He was going to give Obi-Wan the life of luxury and acclaim he'd always deserved. Nations would bow at his feet and worship his beauty.

Vader's hand trailed down over Obi-Wan's hip, and his master made a strangled sob.

_Patience, my love._

His fingers found the marred skin on Obi-Wan's back between his wings. Pressing his palm to it, he smiled.

“Do remember the first time you carried me on your back?” Vader reminisced. “Even through all those layers of clothes, the tattoo still burned.”

Like acid pressing into the nine-year-old's chest, the pain had been like nothing the boy had ever experienced before. It had taken the new master and apprentice twenty minutes after backing away from one another to figure out what was wrong—

But when the tunics came off and Obi-Wan turned around, the child's eyes had widened and he'd turned away with a pained hiss.

“You had it removed.” Vader let his fingernails bite in, just a little, just enough to gather blood beneath them, proof of possession. “You removed the symbol of your Order from your body because you weren't theirs anymore. You were  _mine._ ”

“That's  _not—_ ”

Vader's eyebrows flicked up. “Oh?” he crooned.

“I had it done when I hit adulthood,” Obi-Wan whispered around a split lip. “Because I could, and to bother Qui-Gon.”

“And you removed it for me.”

“I couldn't very well be burning my Padawan!” Obi-Wan protested. “But that does  _not_ mean I gave up my dedication with it! It wasn't a  _symbol_ of my  _oath_ , it was simply a style choice—”

Fingers closed over the lying, treacherous throat.

“Stop talking,” Vader hissed. “Just... stop.”

Obi-Wan didn't resist. He'd long since realized that fighting made everything last longer, crueler—

His lover went limp, enduring—

And then, right as Obi-Wan's vision started graying, and his eyes started watering from the pain, Vader relaxed his fingers and let him draw in a breath. Obi-Wan sagged against the wall, trembling, and Vader watched the drops roll from his eyelashes to his jaw.

He wasn't crying. Those weren't tears. Tears tasted different,  _better_ .

These... these would just taste like salted water. Rather disgusting, actually. Vader had discovered it early on, moving in to savor tears and finding to his horror that emotion hadn't driven what had been offered up that given day. It hadn't been caused by fear, or heart pain, or a weakness for the torture being inflicted—

Simply the body trying to protect its eyes.

That had been a vicious disappointment and it had taken hours to get rid of the aftertaste even once he'd gargled with Obi-Wan's blood.

He paid closer attention nowadays.

 

* * *

 

“Well, well, Kenobi. Look who's tied up like a bird in a cage.”

Obi-Wan, held up by a framework so his recently shattered wings could heal, didn't bother to test his chains  _again._

He'd already done so a million times.

To do it again would simply stroke the interloper's ego.

“I suppose you're the smug feline.” He sounded gleeful in his own ears. It had been so  _long_ since he'd heard  _anyone's voice_ but Vader's—  _seen_ anyone but Vader and the one droid programmed not to speak to him when it brought meals and bandaged him up—

A red and black face emerged from the deeper shadows, looking confused.

Obi-Wan couldn't hold back his hungry gaze devouring that face, the smile that touched his own.

A living, breathing being. One that didn't answer to Vader.  _Here._

There were moments in the night when he wondered if perhaps the only person left in the universe was Vader.

“This is the wrong response,” Maul spoke up at last, visibly taken aback.

Obi-Wan was about to apologize, nearly giddy for the opportunity to actually—

“I'm going to cut your wings off,” Maul growled, clearly trying to regain control over the rapidly devolving situation.

“Must you?” A tired sigh. “Very well then.”

Maul's eyes widened in horror. “That's...  _it_ ?”  
Now it was Obi-Wan who was bewildered. Should there have been something more—? A thank you, perhaps? No, no, that wasn't right— 

“And Force on  _high,_ Kenobi, where are your  _clothes_ ?”

“I... don't know?”  
“He just doesn't let you wear any?”  
“True.”  
Maul scrunched his nose. “ _Why_?”  
“You would have to ask him? I haven't been able to determine whether it's the humiliation or ease of acc—”

Maul interrupted him even as he traced fingers down the side of Obi-Wan's rib cage. “Perhaps it's so he can see how gaunt you've become. What is he  _feeding_ you? Barely enough, clearly.”

Obi-Wan stifled annoyance within, knowing that if he spoke of it, Maul would only intensify it, but.... Could they  _not_ do the petting? He'd had  _more_ than enough in recent times, thank you—

“Sweet  _mother of—_ is he keeping you as his personal  _whore_ ?” Maul yelped as he caught sight of Obi-Wan's rear.

Obi-Wan huffed another sigh. “Wings. You wanted to take my wings?”  
“Why do  _you_ want me to take them?” was the suspicious retort from behind him.

_Do you_ have _to stare at my naked arse?_

Had  _everyone_ lost  _all_ semblance of decorum?

“Vader likes them. Perhaps with them gone... with terrible, ugly, jagged scars...”  
“You hope he might not touch you again.” A gloved palm pressed between the wings, similar to Anakin, but without the frost.

“And, barring that, if they're gone, he can't keep breaking them.”

Obi-Wan had just about talked himself into surviving the maiming when he realized he may have just accidentally talked Maul  _out_ of it.

“If he thinks them so beautiful, why would he destroy them again and again?” Maul sounded genuinely confused.

“It's not a Sith thing?”  
“We take what we want and protect it.”

“That worked out  _very_ well for his wife. Who is dead. By his hand. In spite of the fact that saving her was the reason he turned.”  
A tiny rumble in the back of Maul's throat revealed his annoyance. “Sidious' standards waned as he grew senile. He chose raw power over dedication and discipline. A Sith craves  _power_ , and he does not give it away or damage it or jeopardize it for  _anything._ If Skywalker craves you more than he craves power, he should be more careful where he leaves his toys.”

Maul's fingers came up to card through Obi-Wan's hair, but snagged on the tangles and left Obi-Wan snickering, shaking against the frame. “That looked a lot more graceful in your head, didn't it.”

Oddly enough, the Sith didn't seem angered by the laughter. He lightly batted his fingertips against the back of Obi-Wan's head, but didn't seem eager to retaliate.

“If you stay too long he'll find you,” Obi-Wan pointed out.

Maul moved back around so he could stare Obi-Wan in the face. “Why would he chain you to him like this?”

“ _Why_ ?”

“He cannot bear your heirs—”

Obi-Wan squinted at him, baffled by Maul's bewilderment.

“He slaughtered the other options, you alone survived, he defeated you in combat and locked you away to mate. But he  _cannot bear_ children, so  _why_ ?”

_Oh. I suppose this does look like a little taste of Dathomir._

“How many compelling desires do you have?” Obi-Wan asked, though, given the man facing him had been raised from infancy by Sidious—

“One. Power: ever expanding, ever reaching until I alone remain the uncontested most-powerful being in this galaxy, and any other.”  
_Good to have goals._ “Most people have more than one. Vader is one of those people.”

“Which is why he makes a  _pitiful_ Sith. He's distracted.”

“—Ah.”

“The desire to mate without the specific reason of manipulating someone for your rise to power, or for creating offspring—  _also_ for power— is...  _ridiculous._ It's what we use  _against_ the helpless masses. Vader is prey to something as  _common_ as a cold—”

“I would prefer a cold,” Obi-Wan interjected.  _I had one once. Dreadful, but..._

Nothing was as terrible as  _this._

He tried to look away from it so he could enjoy the company while it lasted, the pain would be returning soon—

“If I killed you, I could send him into a tailspin.” Maul sounded thoughtful.

Obi-Wan tried to hide his smile. “Yes.” Did he sound too eager—?

“Of course, he might not lose focus—”

“He always loses focus when someone tries to take away his things.” Obi-Wan's tone turned just a little bitter. “Force forbid he ever have to actually experience  _loss_ like the rest of the beings who have ever lived through all of time. No, he's the  _Chosen One,_ and he deserves something  _better_ .”

Maul watched him with a confusing expression on his face— almost as if he found Obi-Wan's grumbling  _cute_ ?— and at the end, his lip quirked up into a malice-free smirk.

“He's driving you mad,” Maul murmured, apparently finding it adorable. “How long has it been since you've last spoken with another being?”

“Vader always visits often—”

“Not including him.”

Obi-Wan grimaced. “Not since he captured me, months ago.”

Flicker of an eye ridge, then, “That was years ago, Kenobi.”

_What?_

Obi-Wan's mind froze.

And then panic took over, the illusion of normalcy he'd managed to scrape together disappearing.

“At least take this to heart,” Maul whispered in his ear, “if you  _do_ Fall, it's not going to be what Vader expects or wants.”

“What?”

He smiled. “So even if you lose this contest, Vader doesn't win it either.”

And then he was gone, out the door, and Obi-Wan was left alone once more in the dark.

_No, no, please— don't go— don't leave me here, take me with you, please—_

But all he could hear was the echo of his own pounding, fevered pulse. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not believe this Obi-Wan would succumb. The abuse would prematurely age him, the lack of light might eventually blind him, he might forget how to speak if he chooses to give Vader the silent treatment for too long...
> 
> But he would endure until the day his body simply gave in, Vader forgot himself and went a little too far, one of Vader's enemies decided to exact revenge on Vader, or the Rebellion cracks open Vader's Mustafar Castle to find out what's inside.
> 
> However, when I was explaining what this Obi-Wan would look like as a Sith to someone else as a hypothetical, I was seized with the desire to write it. So “Angel Fallen, Angel Bleeding” is an AU taking place after this story.


	3. Chapter 3

He was having nightmares again, similar to those he used to get, before his Fall.

These didn't center around _pain,_ though.

They centered around Obi-Wan's eyes.

They would shift from blue to gold, and then all  _hell_ descended on Vader's head.

The warnings came every night, and every time more insistently than the last.

Every urging he could find from the heart of darkness warned him  _away from turning Obi-Wan Kenobi._

“Why?” he called into the dark, frustrated by the silence.

A  _light_ Obi-Wan would never serve the dark's purposes, would never submit, would never stay, would never  _love him_ the way he  _wanted—_

A light Obi-Wan was a selfless Obi-Wan.

_And given the way you've abused him so long, only a selfless Obi-Wan could love you at all,_ a voice within him whispered.  _A selfish Obi-Wan would throw you to the wolves and sneer as they tore you apart._

If he wanted to keep Obi-Wan, he would need to find  _another way_ .

Deep in the grip of that thought he climbed the tower, opened the door, and found Obi-Wan curled up asleep on the floor.

He didn't awake with Vader's presence.

The wings lay scattered on the stone, at angles that couldn't be comfortable. Limp. Lifeless.

Vader could count the ribs trying to cut their way through near-transclucent skin. Cruel bruises on jutting hip bones, in the shape of Vader's fingers. His face was just as gaunt, scarily close to Tarkin's for Vader's taste.

If he kept forgetting to feed him...

Staring at the barely-moving ribcage, Vader completed the thought.

_He might die._

Vader stepped closer, tugged by sorrow. His beautiful angel looked torn and ragged,  _ruined,_ even. A toy broken by a cruel child.

_If I succeed in turning you, I fail._

And the dreams where he made Obi-Wan vampire too didn't end  _better._

_You must remain as you are. Unmarred by the filth you've endured, by the darkness you live within._

That, at least, was simple. That was  _Obi-Wan._ Vader wouldn't have to  _do_ anything for that to be the case.

But how to make his angel  _choose_ to stay with him... that was the question. The instant he allowed even a slightly longer leash, the beautiful one would escape. Somehow,  _some way_ , it would happen.

Vader remembered the Clone Wars all too well.

The Sith settled himself, crouched beside Obi-Wan, reaching out to stroke the crooked feathers.

_My poor, broken doll. Chipped, eyes scratched, head shattered in on one side. Dirty frock, left on a shelf in a failing house—_

_A curse in the making._

His fingers smoothed the feathers, a ghost of a caress, but Obi-Wan startled awake, panic flooding the Force.

Obi-Wan dragged himself to sit facing Vader, feet sliding helplessly across the floor, wings folding in tight against his back to try to protect them. Enormous blue eyes looked up into his, a silent, almost teary question:

_What do you want from me now?_

“You have been punished long enough,” Vader murmured, pouring all his love into his voice. “Let me have your wings.”

Desperate begging entered Obi-Wan's face, but he shifted, crawled back within reach, lay flat on his stomach, shuddering, expecting the worst—

Vader pressed his hand to where the tattoo had once been, and Obi-Wan flinched beneath him.

He took an hour and simply mapped every line and curve of the beautiful wings, trying to straighten bent feathers as he went. He stroked the wings, drew them up and watched how they folded and bent in his hands, never once forcing them, like he used to.

Obi-Wan's muscles were frightened beneath his hands, waiting for the moment he would begin to inflict pain. At some point, silent tears had begun to stain the stone of the floor.

They were beautiful, and the smelled divine, but Vader had created a sea of them over the years.

He hadn't once heard a joyful laugh.

Hadn't once heard that voice raised in song.

Hadn't once seen a look of trust, gratitude, and  _need_ in his eyes.

_Obi-Wan Kenobi, I am going to win all of that from you._

He was a Sith Lord, his power should be complete. He should be able to do  _anything_ he set about to attempt now.

Certainly, as attention starved a being as Obi-Wan Kenobi could not long resist the charms of a  _loving_ captor. He would succumb, as many before him had.  _I will bind you to me, and then you will love me how I desire._

 

* * *

 

It started with taming the long, tangled locks of Obi-Wan's hair. Vader found the exercise surprisingly soothing, all things considered. The mats were spectacular. Vader hadn't realized hair could become _this_ tangled.

His angel was exhausted by sitting up that long, so he left him to sleep in his cell while Vader set out to find what was needed next.

It didn't take him long to find the ring and its accompanying stone.

Sith artifacts Sidious had collected during his lurking years, Vader knew exactly what they were for. He slipped the ring on his forefinger, and summoned the best jewelers.

The band needed to be black to match Obi-Wan's wings, it would stand out stark and cold against his pale skin tone. The stone itself he would have placed on the inside, a gentle press against Obi-Wan's skin. A reminder, a promise.

He'd discovered a while back that gold steeped in Sith rituals lost its yellow sheen, it began to look near black. If the light struck it correctly, the glint of gold remained, but otherwise it looked like a gleaming black metal with something just a little  _off_ .

The band would have designs swirled across it, invisible in all but certain light angles. And then those who saw would realize how highly the angel was prized.

Yes.

It would be perfect.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan did not like his collar.

Vader hadn't really expected him to. How could a man who'd been hidden from universe for so  _long_ know of the subtleties of finer things?  
It was alright.

The stone would sense intent, and also keep him leashed.

Should he try to plot escape, it would take him down with extreme prejudice. If Vader strayed too far from his angel's side, Obi-Wan would be sent into a deep, painless sleep, and nothing would awaken him but Vader's return.

Of course, if Obi-Wan was motivated, he would find some way to circumvent all this.

So the goal was to give him a lack of motivation to do so.

First things first. The Rebellion needed to no longer be the _good guys._

Vader applied himself to the strategy of it all, and it didn't take him long to figure out  _how_ to make this work.

First, since he'd canceled Palpatine's  _ridiculous_ Death Star project, they didn't need to utterly squeeze the life out of manufacturing, agricultural, and mining worlds. Sweeping reforms allowing the citizens to breathe, along with adjustments to what Empire-employed workers were paid were in order.

The system was  _less_ positive with the grubby, corrupted bureaucrats running the businesses, so Vader passed an edict directing that all businesses seized in the Empire's name be given back to the individuals they'd been stolen from, which incidentally took a massive step in the direction of separating politicians and businessmen into two different categories again.

It was simple enough to make token reparations to those whose property had been seized as well. Sidious had been a hoarder, and  _then_ he'd taxed everyone to the point of absolute absurdity.

Vader edged the taxes back.

The politicians who protested his changes,  _died._ The others stopped complaining.

The common person's view of the Empire drastically changed, especially as Vader pulled the visible stormtrooper presence back from non-strategic worlds. He was young, he was good looking, he smiled, he reversed most of what people hated most about the Empire, and he was anything but a politician.

And an entire galaxy had been waiting for  _that_ to come along.

He released a statement announcing that Palpatine's secret slavery efforts were going to be dismantled, starting with the massive labor camps hidden in the Outer Rim.

The people would be going home.

_Now._

He didn't want the whole damn galaxy. That had never been _his_ ambition. And since it would be dismantling Palpatine's even more... he might be just a little gleeful over the whole thing.

Putting on his sweetest Jedi demeanor, and even dressing in robes he never thought he would wear again, he went to meet with the leaders of the Rebellion.

They were wary, of course, but he sniffed them out and tracked them down.

And then he offered them autonomy.

He'd mediated enough squabbles at Obi-Wan's side. He knew how to do this. He could do it  _well._

And he did.

Individual planetary systems would put the choice to their population, and the local vote would decide which planets joined the New Republic, and which remained in the Empire.  _But_ the worlds that had been won by the Rebellion had to be offered the same choice as well.

Before they had a chance to look for the  _but,_ Vader threw in a couple more points he'd hashed out in his mind.

Every ten years, planetary systems would be allowed to make the choice  _again,_ with no reprisals against those that wanted to shift allegiance at that time.

The politicians in the Rebellion were looking at him funny.

_Yes, yes. I know governments don't run like that._

But hell, that just meant it was time to try it, as far as Vader was concerned.

Trade between the two nations would be allowed, encouraged, even, as well as tourism and vacationing.

“Allow me to interrupt, for just a moment,” Mon Mothma broke in. “At what point are you going to stop playing with us and take your lightsaber to everyone in this room?”

“I am not Palpatine, Senator. I have no interest in subjugation. I want peace. You and your people will never be content with my rule, so I'll find a way to live side by side in harmony.”

“You  _enslave_ people.”

“Place people you trust to watch over the voting process to make sure no Imperials try to rig the system.” Vader shrugged. “But you'll find I've been releasing the slaves, returning what has been stolen, and protecting what was once trampled.”

They'd been trying to put themselves in a position of power to make demands.

Vader had cut the need to scrabble for that power off at the knees by handing it to them.

He could practically hear their minds going,  _well, kark, might as well go home then._

When he returned, the Imperial Senate was in an uproar, wanting to evict Vader and appoint someone else. That required a few deaths. Just seven, actually, and then the fervor calmed down.

Especially as the results started coming in.

Less than a third of the galaxy wanted to leave this new Empire. Quite a bit less.

Vader worked his way through some obligatory interviews, found it amusing the young and beautiful thought they  _needed_ him in their lives even more now than their counterparts had two decades ago, and then went home.

A galaxy of eager souls might be begging for a chance to woo him, but he only had eyes for one.

The one who was absolutely, totally,  _not_ interested.

That was love. Not ego. Ab-so-lute-ly.

It was a marvelous day when he led Obi-Wan to his throne room on Coruscant, the dark chair on its black dais, the colors of the entire room dark except for Obi-Wan. White robes, black wings, auburn hair, black collar, the eye was naturally dragged in his direction and trapped.

Obi-Wan looked around, bewildered, overwhelmed—

Vader had to be careful of his eyes. They couldn't handle much light at the moment. Surgery would be needed if they were to correct the damage that had been done, but Vader wasn't sure he wanted to. He wanted Obi-Wan  _here,_ not out  _there,_ and one more fetter around the flying one's ankle couldn't hurt. 

Besides. How pale his eyes were now was beautiful.

Obi-Wan didn't make it to the throne. He'd exerted himself far too much over the course of the journey, and Vader had to scoop him up in his arms and carry him like a bride to his place.

There was a large black pillow on a raised part of the dais, large enough for Obi-Wan to curl up and sleep on. That's where Vader set him, Obi-Wan trying to keep his eyes open and failing. Within moments he'd drifted away.

Sitting on his throne, Vader smiled at the creature curled up almost at armrest height. He reached over to stroke the soft curve of wing, the caress gentle and possessive.

That was where the first meeting of the day was held, the individuals he'd agreed to actually speak with having to keep their voices low to not awaken his angel.

That made their tedious whining amusing, watching them struggle to convey it in whispers. Sometimes he would lean forward, feign a lack of hearing, and ask  _what_ just to see their faces redden in dismay.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

“When will you take me back to the cell?”

Vader looked up into gray eyes in which fear lurked. “You're not going back to the cell.”

Obi-Wan frowned. “You won't keep me in  _your_ rooms, so where will I—”

“ _Yes,_ I'm keeping you in  _my_ rooms.”

Obi-Wan squinted, trying to make sense of  _that._

He kept his silence for an hour before he produced another question. “What is to keep me from escaping?”

“I want you to choose to stay with me.” Vader knew his longing infected his voice and face, and Obi-Wan seemed startled by it.

So startled, he retreated into silence and fluffed feathers again.

It was two hours before he showed his face once more. “You're not really giving me a choice. But if you were,  _why_ would I choose to stay with you?”  
“Because you might be able to influence some of the things I do. There are decisions I make every day that I don't really care about, I just answer randomly. Those, I'll give completely to you.”

Obi-Wan sniffed. “You think that for  _non-important drivel_ I would stay as your frip toy and punching bag? I don't give a  _kark_ what color your napkins are,  _Lord Vader._ ”

“Yeah, that's not what I'm talking about. They are important decisions, I just don't  _care._ ” Vader held up a datapad and opened one of the documents for the day as an example.

Obi-Wan peered at it, eyes going wide. Then he sighed, murmuring, “Oh, Anakin,” and Vader's entire being thrilled, because he hadn't heard  _that_ voice in  _that_ tone of weary forbearance for cleaning up his messes since his  _Fall._   
It felt so  _good._

For a split second Obi-Wan hadn't seen Vader, the man who betrayed and murdered his family, hunted and beat and raped and drained blood from him—

He saw something  _else._ Something he held  _dear._

“So?” he asked. “Do you want it?” he waggled the datapad.

“I won't promise to stay.” Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes at him. “I'm not  _promising anything._ ”

“That's fine.”

Hesitant, as if worried the thing was going to bite him, Obi-Wan accepted the datapad.

“Why would you trust me with any of this?” Obi-Wan asked. “It's not wise.”  
Vader shrugged. “I'm never wise when it comes to the people I love.”

Obi-Wan snorted, disgust in his face. “You think you love me?”

“I know I do.”

Blue clashed with gold, and Obi-Wan was the one who had to look away.

The datapad lay forgotten on the cushion as he curled into himself and hid, trembling.

And from  _that_ retreat, he didn't emerge until Vader prodded him upright to retire to bed.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan clearly expected to be hurt.

Vader was sorry to see it. The fear didn't feel as good as it used to. Now it felt... old. He'd  _been_ there.  _Done_ that. He'd been taking revenge on Obi-Wan for  _years,_ and Vader still wasn't  _happy,_ exactly, so it was worth trying something else.

He decided he wouldn't touch Obi-Wan sexually that night. Instead, for the first time ever, he would actually sleep beside him.

He'd always fripped him and then left.

Clearly, Obi-Wan didn't know what to do with cuddling.

Lights out, Obi-Wan lying stiff beside him, Vader snuggled up against his back so he could take full advantage of soft feathers pressed to his face and chest—  _why_ hadn't he done this before?— the Sith lazily stroked the bone lines in dark wings.

An hour into it, right as Vader's fingers slowed, sleep moving in to claim his mind, Obi-Wan spoke up. There was a slight tremble in his voice, fear of drawing attention to himself, but the uncertainty of not knowing was clearly  _worse—_

“When are you going to bite me?”  
“Not tonight,” Vader murmured.

“Oh-one-hundred hours, then?”

“No, Obi-Wan. We're going to sleep.”

Obi-Wan's trembling increased. “You brought me here to  _sleep._ ”

“Yes, dear one.”

Obi-Wan didn't dare move, his terror complete.

“You've been lulling me into a state of feeling safe. You— You're going to rape me, as soon as I fall asleep, aren't you.”

“No, Obi-Wan.”

“Please,” the Jedi whimpered. “Let me sleep in the refresher.”

Vader propped himself up on one elbow and Obi-Wan cringed. “You want to sleep in _there_ ?”

“I— I want warning. Before.”

_He wants to hear the door open and realize I've come for him._

“I swear I'm not going to hurt you while you sleep. Just relax.”

Again on the edge of sleep, he was jolted to wakefulness as Obi-Wan lunged from the bed, retreating backwards step by faltering step, wings shivering, convulsing tight around him as he cringed, his entire body pleading.

“Please,” he begged, “just  _hurt_ me and get it over with. I cannot—  _please_ don't make me wait all night wondering  _when_ !”

“Obi-Wan, if you want to have sex with me, all you have to do is ask.”

Terror flooded the Jedi's eyes. Alright, then, that's clearly not what he meant.

“Perhaps you could break bones tonight, instead, you could— you could hurt my wings.” Vader watched, amazed, as Obi-Wan offered up the most vulnerable part of his anatomy to be sacrificed instead of giving and receiving pleasure.

_You_ really _don't want to be touched by me._

“Just make the suspense stop.” Obi-Wan bowed in on himself, ashamed,  _so_ afraid...

Vader rose, glided to where he stood. He lifted Obi-Wan's chin with a finger and studied the desperate eyes that met his. “You don't believe I can change.”

“I believe in your anger,” Obi-Wan choked. “I believe in your hate.”  
_But not my love. Did you ever believe in it?_

_Or has this always been what you've seen?_

“Time for you to discover something new about me.” Vader caressed the side of his face with cold fingers. “You won't sleep well until I've hurt you?”

Obi-Wan stared at him, confused.

_Of course, darling, I understand; it's routine. It's all you've known for over a decade, of course you need it._

“Please,” Obi-Wan whispered, his fear deepening. “Send me back to my cell. I don't need fancy clothes, I don't—”

“You want me to hurt you.”

Obi-Wan exploded away from him, hands up to protect his face. “No,  _no—_ ”

“I will give you what you want,” Vader soothed, catching him easily and subduing the starvation-weakened man with no effort. He placed the struggling Jedi on the bed, covering him with his own body.

“I will sate you, but I will not hurt you physically,” Vader explained. “I want you to learn to enjoy when I touch you, when you touch me. I understand you need pain tonight, so I'm going to grant it another way.”  
“No,  _please—_ ”

Vader pressed his cheek against Obi-Wan's ear, and focused on Obi-Wan's mind.

Obi-Wan fought, trying to prevent the invasion, to expel him, to—

Vader found an opening in his shields, a tiny one, one struggling to close and avoid his notice—

Vader pushed against it, not bothering to be gentle. Refusing to go slow, refusing to slowly work the shields apart, he simply thrust in, piercing Obi-Wan's mind with his own.

A scream tore its way from Obi-Wan's throat, raw and beautiful.

Once there, Vader stilled, feeling Obi-Wan trembling beneath him, the angel terrified to move, lest the tearing in his soul become worse.

But Vader wasn't here to convince him to hate him. Instead of finding something to hurt Obi-Wan more with, he found the pleasure centers of the brain and fed energy into them, and felt smug as Obi-Wan's body relaxed beneath him, warm and pliant.

“See, darling? I can make you feel good,” he crooned, delighted at Obi-Wan's response to the imaginary but very satisfying pleasure.

The tear that escaped Obi-Wan's eye didn't make much sense, so Vader didn't think much of it.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**One Year Later**

 

“Master Kenobi! I'm here to get you out.”

The angel did not turn around.

“Obi-Wan, it's Ahsoka. I'm here to rescue you.”

He turned his head, his eyes much more sharp and clear than in the holos she'd seen. “Hello, Ahsoka,” he murmured.

“I'll get you out.”

“I'm not coming.”

Ahsoka stared at him. “What?”

He turned around fully, allowing her to see the black robes, the gleam of well-groomed black feathers, the black collar around his throat— all of it making his skin so pale it seemed to glow, and left his eyes the only splash of color about him.

It made it near impossible to tear her gaze away from their blue.

“My place is here.”

Ahsoka tried to still the terrible ache in her heart as she urged, “You don't have to let him do this to you. I love him too, Obi-Wan, but this is not the way to save him.”

“I have more control over the day-to-day operations of this Empire than he does. It's too much work; politics and paperwork and meetings that he cannot stand. If I go, Amedda does it. Or Tarkin. Or Price. Whoever can get their hands on it fastest.”

Ahsoka scowled. “It's not _freedom,_ Obi-Wan. The people here aren't _free._ It's not enough.”

“They aren't complaining. Those who couldn't stand it  _left,_ remember. Those here are fairly content with how things are running.”

He had a poise to him that all the intel had claimed he'd  _lost._ It left Ahsoka feeling off-kilter.

A terrible wound in the Force walked through the door.

Golden eyes found hers and a smile lit the Sith's face. “Hello, Ahsoka. Been a long time.”

“What have you done to him?” Ahsoka snarled.

Vader looked smug. “I gave him purpose. I gave him a chance to make a difference. How is the New Republic these days?”

Squabbling. No one could agree on anything, and Ahsoka felt like banging her head against the wall most days.

_But._

“Suppose he went there. How much could he get done? How many lives could he save? How many lives could he make  _clearly_ better? For Obi-Wan to put his personal freedom over the wellbeing of others, do you  _really_ think he's going to make that choice?” The vile creature slid over to Obi-Wan, held out an arm.

Horrified, Ahsoka watched Obi-Wan step into the offered embrace, eyes finding Vader's, then Ahsoka's.

“He's suffered too much, lost too much to find happiness ever again. But he  _can_ bring it to others. So if you think he'd give  _that_ up to be unhappy and without the power to help? You're crazy.”

“How can you stand the  _sight_ of him?” Ahsoka cried to Obi-Wan,  _furious_ with her former master and his casual betrayal of their entire family unit.

Obi-Wan simply watched her, and in the Force, she read the truth of Vader's words.

Not happy. Not expecting to ever be happy again. But watchful. Awake. Calm.

“Does he rape you still?” Ahsoka demanded. She couldn't leave until she knew. She'd heard his screams in the Force on too many nights, and it broke her  _heart_ that one of her dads could so hurt the other.

Obi-Wan's head tipped to the side, as if trying to evaluate. “No.”

“Why'd you have to think about it? Is he still forcing himself on you, even if it doesn't hurt?”

“I'm his consort, Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan returned, voice cold. “Read between the lines.”

Vader sighed. “So much frustration. I want his body and loyalty, he wants my power. Maybe it's not the perfect family you  _thought_ we were, Ahsoka, but there's harmony here.”

“ _Harmony_ ? He's still a  _slave_ !” Ahsoka accused, taking a step closer. “You're holding his happiness hostage to keep him chained to you like a  _pet,_ only  _this_ is a pet you take all  _dignity_ away from.”

Vader shrugged. “People fall to their knees when he enters a room.”  
“So? Everyone knows you kept him chained in your tower for  _years._ ”

He offered her an easy smile as he explained, “That was a mistake. I thought his screams would make me happy. Didn't feel much, all things considered. His unresisting body, though— that is something else. And some nights he loves me back.”

“ _Why_ ?” Ahsoka demanded. “Why would you  _do_ this?” But she wasn't sure who she meant.

Obi-Wan didn't look upset by the question, but he certainly didn't melt, either. He simply watched her as if he felt nothing about her, as if they spoke of the weather.

_This hauteur he's cloaked himself with... it's probably all he has against the court Anakin's set up. They all_ know  _what's been done to him, and they no doubt laugh about it when he's out of earshot. Maybe not even wait for_ that.  _To look at them all with disdain... he_ must,  _or he would hunch and try to stay out of sight._

Her anger at him drained away.

“Obi-Wan, please come with me,” she whispered. “I swear you could do good elsewhere, you could  _help people_ and still have a chance at something better than this. Maybe not happiness, but perhaps  _peace._ Maybe a sense of self-pride again.”

Vader watched, amused instead of threatened.

Obi-Wan walked to meet Ahsoka, his wings held like an aristocrat, his step that of a king, understanding the pure sex of his body and just not giving a kark.

He paused in front of her, placed heavily-scarred hands on her shoulders.

“Find something better.”

“Master,” she whispered, voice choking.

“I am sorry for everything that has happened. I have been to the brink of madness and back. I learned what it was to beg for mercy. I have no respect for myself left, but I have so much for you.”

How could he look so _proud_ of her and so  _empty_ at the same time? Ahsoka's eyes burned as tears tried to form.

“There are things I want to accomplish before I die, Ahsoka, and this is the most expeditious way to do them. The point isn't living anymore— I've had enough of that. I'm aiming for tolerable and productive, and then I want to be done.”

A tear slipped down her cheek. “Master.”

“The pain is gone. So there is that.” Obi-Wan gave her a smile so gentle that it became terrible in its own way. “And nothing can heal what has been done to my heart.”

“ _No._ When you say something like that, you betray every one of us who has  _ever_ been through hell.”

“My aims are simple. I will put this Empire in other hands, and then I will kill Vader.”

Ahsoka's gaze snapped to Anakin's, heart lunging into her throat—

But  _he_ didn't seem at all  _surprised—_

“But—” she protested.

Obi-Wan squeezed her shoulders, then dropped his hands to his sides. “If he's feeling kind that day, he will kill me as well. If not, he will prevent it, and we will continue our dance until I can try again.”

 

* * *

 

“Is now a good time?” Vader murmured, body sated and comfortable, head resting on Obi-Wan's bare chest.

The broken angel had kissed him back this evening, had groaned into his mouth and touched him in return, bending to Vader's caresses. And while it had not been enthusiastic, it had been desperate. A flurry of despair cloaked as desire. Self-hatred masquerading as passion.

Breathless release feigning it was anything other than misery.

And now the angel lay still as Vader cuddled up to him, the Sith possibly about to be murdered.

“Hmm,” Vader added as it became clear Obi-Wan was not going to speak. “See, I think that was the original plan. Left over from the time when the desire for death was fresh. I'm not so sure you  _want_ to anymore. Oh, I think you  _will,_ but I don't think it will be as satisfying as it would have been if you'd done it months ago. You're too late.”

Obi-Wan sighed, but didn't move.

“Am I wrong?”

Obi-Wan turned his head away, and a slight hitch in the chest beneath Vader's ear told the vampire the angel stifled a sob.

“You hate yourself,” Vader whispered, easing up to kiss him, low and sweet once more. “My own. You hate that you stay. You hate that you haven't killed me yet. You hate that you keep finding things to do, that it isn't safe yet to drop the reins of the Empire, and you hate that Ahsoka looked at you with a mixture of contempt and pity.”

Obi-Wan rolled over to put his back to Vader, letting the Sith clunk to the bed without consideration.

“There's been a tsunami on Glee Anselm. I'll take you there tomorrow.”

Obi-Wan's stiffness eased, just a little. Smiling, Vader pressed up against his back, burying his nose in feathers again, humming appreciatively.

“You can save a world tomorrow,” Vader murmured as he wrapped a possessive arm around his angel's middle to hold him close.

 

* * *

 

He'd managed to look with-it, for Ahsoka.

Vader had caught wind of the rescue attempt that was being planned, had warned him ahead of time.

Obi-Wan had been working on a reply for weeks. Standing in the mirror, trying to hold his head up.

Practicing alone... and then practicing his speech as Vader pretended to be Ahsoka.

That had been unnerving, since Vader's eyes almost flickered blue in the process.

It tore open all the wounds Obi-Wan had been carefully patching over the last twelve months. The boards nailed over the empty places where the wind howled in his soul were punched through, the paint he'd used to make the boards match the rest of the interior was now shredded, and none of it looked together.

It required much effort, a sleepless night, and a healthy dose of insanity to put it all back the way he'd had it  _before_ Vader's eyes flickered, so he could present a controlled and resigned front to Ahsoka.

He'd been on edge the last twenty-four hours, waiting for her to startle him while he went about his day. He'd been holding the facade the whole time, and while Vader had sent adoring, almost drooling glances his way, practically radiating pride, Obi-Wan had felt calm, knowing he would shatter into a million pieces the moment Ahsoka left.

He had.

He'd hoped that really involving himself in Vader's  _you are stunning let me have sex with you aren't I so generous to let you come too_ self-congratulatory mess would be the last bit of exhaustion needed to let him fall asleep. Preferably immediately. Hopefully without thinking.

Minutes ticked by, and Vader fell asleep against his back.

Not too worried about being stabbed to death in his sleep.

As the last of his costume fell away, Obi-Wan lay hunkered over on his side, eyes wide in the dark, wings drawn close.

He would never be able to kill Vader.

It had sounded brave and stern and deadly serious, and he'd sensed Vader's delight at his performance, and Vader perhaps even believed it— no, he definitely believed it, and seemed alright with it—

_But that was never the plan._

And it never would be.

_Because Ahsoka's right. I've let him cage me. And I don't have the strength to get out. And I only sort of want to. If I leave, I'll have nothing left._

_Nothing._

He lurched up and off the bed, gliding into the refresher. Retreating into the shower, he sat in the corner of it, lowered his head to his drawn-up knees and wept. He felt so  _alone,_ so  _disgusting,_ so  _powerless,_ so  _hopeless—_

And the worst part of it was he craved for Vader to hear him, to come and hold him, to smooth back his hair and not say a word, just sit there with him in his agony.

And after a moment...

That's exactly what Vader did.

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

Vader watched, not bothering to hide his attention while Obi-Wan hunched over a datapad, fingers zipping along like mad as he worked.

A furrow of focus marred his brow, his wings were drawn up by the sides of his head like hunched shoulders, and the angel was curled in on himself while he sat on his cushion by Vader's throne.

Vader noted the slight tremble in the wing closest to him.

Since the grand theatre of Obi-Wan Kenobi, the angel had become even more unsure and flighty than before. He couldn't look anyone in the eye when he spoke to them, and for the most part he told Vader what he wanted said, then sat in frozen terror while the actual meeting took place and Vader read word-for-word what had been typed out for him.

The day he'd fumbled and misread a word left Obi-Wan cringing, blushing in mortification, his desire to fall through the floor and _die_ clear as a bell in the Force.

_It wasn't you who made the mistake._

Didn't matter.

Obi-Wan had unraveled, and it would only take a few careful pulls at the yarn to uncover the last of what he had left to blow away with a callous breath.

Vader refrained.

He decided it might be wise to hold back on sex for a while. Annoying, sure, but probably needed. And... he could manage without angel blood for a time. It wasn't like Obi-Wan was  _going_ anywhere.

He spent a lot of time cuddling Obi-Wan, rather impressed by how good it felt. There had been pleasure in being a hero, back in the day.

Not forcing Obi-Wan into unwanted sex for a couple weeks  _certainly_ made him a hero again.

He reached over and stroked the back of his finger down Obi-Wan's trembling wing.

The angel froze, sent him a sideways glance, then hunkered down further and kept with his task.

A familiar presence startled Vader and he looked up to find Ahsoka walking down the long hall to his throne.

Obi-Wan let out a distressed squeak, and then nothing could be seen but fluffed black feathers, all the way around.

“Curious,” Vader purred, watching his former Padawan with glowing eyes. “I thought we had this chat just days ago.”

She came to a stop at the base of the dais and shrugged. “I'm still family, aren't I?”

“Always.” Vader felt just a little wary, sending a glance Obi-Wan's way.

One blue eye peered out at him between black feathers. It looked alarmed.

“I came to stay a while. Maybe a week.” Ahsoka smiled, her sharp canines showing. “Figured I might as well see some of this life my big brother's made for himself.”

“Certainly, Little Sister. You are welcome to any of the guest rooms.”

She did  _not_ seem shocked by Obi-Wan's hiding.

_Ah. Was she not fooled by his performance, then?_

It wouldn't surprise him. He expected the New Republic had surveillance on his Palace of some sort, living or computerized.

“Perhaps you would like to have a quiet dinner— just the three of us?” Vader suggested.

The Force twisted with Obi-Wan's horror and despair.

Ahsoka gave a nod without looking at the angel. “I'd like that.” She turned on her heel and sauntered out, Vader's narrowed eyes watching until the doors swung slid behind her.

He found Obi-Wan almost in his lap, wide, desperate eyes peering up into his, hands gripping his dark tunic, a face pale with terror. “She'll  _know._ Please, she'll  _know—_ ”

“Know what?” Vader soothed, hands moving to pull Obi-Wan the rest of the way into his lap and then caressing Obi-Wan's ass while keeping him from falling off the throne. “That you and I frip? I think she mentioned she knew last time.”

Obi-Wan bowed his head, his forehead wrinkling in misery. “No. Know that— know  _this._ ” He held up a shaking hand.

“Know you  _aren't_ actually planning on killing me?” Vader crooned. “That you don't intend to ever leave? That you're falling apart, piece by piece?”

Obi-Wan's face crumpled and a tear slid down his cheek.

Vader let go with one hand to swipe the tear away with his thumb. “I don't want you to break, Obi-Wan. No good comes from you shattering on me.”

“I thought that was the whole point of  _everything._ And you've done a very thorough job.” His voice sounded bitter. “All those years of pain and solitude, just longing for a  _voice,_ any voice—”

“I used you cruelly,” Vader mourned, kissing away the next tear that fell and pressing tiny kisses to all the skin of his colorless cheeks he could manage.

“You did.”

Vader cradled the back of Obi-Wan's head with his metal hand, gentle as if Obi-Wan were a delicate sculpture made of glass. “I was selfish and vile and hurt you in every way. And it didn't even make me happy.”

Obi-Wan ducked his head to avoid further kisses. Vader allowed it, pressing his own forehead to Obi-Wan's, somehow more intimate now than it had been  _with_ the kisses.

“I want you happy, Obi-Wan.”

“It's too late for that.” Another tear slipped free.

“Happiness is a persistent thing, Obi-Wan. Can't you find little sparkles of it here and there? Is there  _nothing_ you want?”

“I want my riverstone,” Obi-Wan whispered.

Pleasure spilled through Vader. “Good,” he murmured back. “I think I still have that somewhere. I will find it for you.”

“I don't want Ahsoka to see how pathetic I am.”

“You are not pathetic,” Vader countered. “You are glorious.”

Obi-Wan shook his head.

Vader caught his chin, tilted his face up so Obi-Wan could see what was in the Sith's eyes. The adoration, the worship, the  _content—_

“Are  _you_ happy?” Obi-Wan asked, voice barely audible.

“Sometimes. When I kiss you. When I make love to you. Not cruelly, like in the tower, but the way we do now. Gentle and passionate. It will be perfect when I see you smile.”

“You hate me. You want to punish me. You hunted me for years to hurt me. Why would you want me happy except to take it away again?”

“I was wrong.” Vader didn't move, letting Obi-Wan study his face and the Force. “You suffered so beautifully, so perfectly, so  _goodly—_ ”

Obi-Wan's nose scrunched at the terrible,  _terrible_ use of a word with a  _different_ definition—

“You endured so much, and yet you didn't hate me. Through it all, you loved me, and I finally realized I love you too. You won, Obi-Wan. Your love saved me.”

Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I don't love you that way.”

“I know you didn't used to. But can you look me in the eye and tell me you aren't falling in love with me now?”

Confusion spilled through those eyes.

“But love couldn't have saved you, because you aren't  _saved_ .”

“Aren't I? Have I not given freedom for my subjects into your hands? Have I not  _made_ a New Republic? Is there a war? Have I  _not_ redeemed myself for the murders I've committed by saving so many lives and giving my kingdom to those in need? Have I not tried to apologize for being so unkind to you all those years?”

“You haven't changed. You keep me chained up, you— you weren't elected.”

“Oh, but I was. Every world that voted to stay, elected me. And they'll have the choice again, and then again, and again.” Vader pressed a kiss to Obi-Wan's nose, startling the Jedi.

“Why would you do that?”

“Give the people a choice—?”

“Kiss my nose,” Obi-Wan demanded. “It's ridiculous.”  
Vader smiled, a smile unfettered by his usual predatory undertones. He saw it surprised Obi-Wan, left him staring hungrily into Vader's face. “You make me feel ridiculous. You make me feel like maybe I'm not a monster. You make me feel young and  _good_ again, and when you look at me with love in your eyes, it makes me want to do the right thing, just to see you smile.”

Obi-Wan swallowed, the movement clearly difficult.

“I love you,” Vader whispered. “I am so in love with you. I want you happy, my beautiful, beautiful Light.”

Obi-Wan opened his mouth as if to speak, then snapped it shut when he couldn't find words.

“You have suffered enough,” Vader whispered. “More than anyone should ever have to. Let me make it right.”

Overwhelmed, Obi-Wan looked away.

“I have an idea about Ahsoka,” Vader offered. “We'll go to dinner, and I'll arrange to have a servant interrupt us ten minutes in. He'll hand you a datapad, you'll look at it, excuse yourself, and leave because you have something dreadfully important to oversee. Your appearance intact. You'll look the opposite of weak: walking out on me during a meal.”

Obi-Wan sent him a half-doubtful, half-needy, wholly ashamed look. “Could you? Could we?”

“Of course. And before you see her after that, you'll have your riverstone in hand, and Qui-Gon himself will strengthen you to look her in the face and hold your dignity.”

“I can't— I can't look her in the eye.”

“That's alright. Look at her nose, or right between her eyes on her forehead. It works just as well.”

Again that narrowed-eyed, unconvinced  _look._ It melted as he murmured, “You will really let me have the riverstone?”  
“Of course, my love.”

And what's more, Vader had thought of another gift to give his consort.

But that could wait.

“You are so beautiful,” Vader murmured, letting his gaze wander over Obi-Wan's face and what could be seen of his wings.

His lover blushed, looking away again.

Vader touched a gloved finger to his jaw. “Why? Why do you hide from me? You are magnificent. After everything you have endured, still so Light.”

That startled Obi-Wan into peering into his eyes again.

“My experiences broke me,” Vader offered with a sad smile. “I could not endure and I Fell. I will be forever stained because of the things I have done. But you hold out hope I can be something more than evil. Your Light burns even as it purifies me. But to be near your soul, to worship your Light, I would endure countless fires and guilt. Have mercy on me, master of my soul.”

Obi-Wan shook his head, whether in disbelief or confusion, Vader wasn't quite sure.

“Please,” Vader whispered, voice trembling.

Obi-Wan curled forward, hiding his face in Vader's throat, clearly trying to escape a situation he felt extremely uncomfortable with.

Vader held him close, heart thundering in his ears.

He knew Obi-Wan felt it.

“I don't deserve your love,” Vader whispered.

Obi-Wan sighed.

Vader could sense he was wearing down.

Soon, Obi-Wan would love him in return.

Soon.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

Dinner went well.

Not because Ahsoka cooperated.

No, the vast majority of dinner was painful as hell.

Vader counted the proceedings a success because the false emergency appeared on schedule, a regal Obi-Wan excused himself with profound and sincere regrets, and glided from the room.

Vader smiled into his hand and turned to ask Ahsoka how life had been treating her of late.

She scowled after the retreating Obi-Wan, clearly unhappy about his escape, but she fell into conversation with her former master.

Every other paragraph had some sort of subtle jab at him for his chosen way of life and Obi-Wan's current status.

It was... _unpleasant._

Vader felt very grateful when it was over and he bid Ahsoka goodnight, retiring to his chambers.

He found Obi-Wan kneeling on the floor, hands on his knees, eyes closed.

_Meditating,_ Vader realized in shock.

It had been years since he'd last seen his master meditate.

The man had given it up.

A single eye opened, then the other flew open in shock. He scrambled to his feet, looking worried as if he might be punished.

“So beautiful,” Vader murmured. “So perfect for me. Don't let me distract you. I can go for a run so you can finish without my presence disrupting you.”

“No need,” was Obi-Wan's automated reply, the urge to not be an inconvenience something that apparently couldn't be killed.

“Did you find your gift?” Vader asked.

Obi-Wan looked down at his hand, opened his fingers, and there, in his palm, lay Qui-Gon's riverstone.

For a long moment neither spoke, and then Obi-Wan's voice rasped, “Out of them all, I miss him the most.” His eyes blurred with tears, his breathing turned harsh. “And you.” He raised his gaze to Vader's eyes. “I miss  _you_ so much.”

Vader drew him into an embrace, allowing Obi-Wan to sob against his shoulder, smoothing back the gray-streaked auburn hair.

He didn't say a word, simply holding him against the sorrow of a soul so isolated, so tormented, a soul made what it was because of Vader's own choices.

He shivered a little, at the power of the thought, the realization that just as Obi-Wan had shaped him in years past, now Obi-Wan had been carved into something clearly created by Vader.

And his creation was  _beautiful._

As Obi-Wan's weeping stilled to silent tears, Vader pressed gentle kisses to the side of his head, down his neck, across his shoulder, in spite of the clothing he wore.

Obi-Wan pressed both of his palms against Vader's chest, the stone pressing hard over Vader's heart.

“Do you want me to stop?” Vader asked, pulling back just enough to stare into Obi-Wan's wet eyes.

“The sadness,” Obi-Wan whispered, “it never goes away.”

“Then let me bear it with you. Don't carry it alone.”

The grief was still there as Obi-Wan tilted his head, lips moving close to Vader's.

For a long moment Vader waited, heart in his throat, wondering if Obi-Wan would actually  _kiss_ him first—

And then cold, soft lips pressed against his, at first still, then opening to offer access.

Vader was all too willing to plunder that perfect mouth.

The riverstone slipped from nerveless fingers to land on the carpet.

Vader carried his conquest to the bed, laying him down with infinite gentleness.

The tears didn't stop. The empty sorrow never left his eyes. Obi-Wan participated, seeking something,  _anything_ more than the eternal grief...

But even lost in the physical shock of endorphins released, Obi-Wan was not  _happy._

Vader pampered him, pleasured him, whispered how perfect and beautiful he was—

And knew it was only a matter of time before Obi-Wan fully gave himself over.

Not to darkness, but to Vader.

 

* * *

 

He needed to not feel alone.

_That_ is why he'd kissed Vader.

But as he awoke in the morning and tried to remember if he'd managed to leave the terrible solitude behind—

No.

Not even in the height of passion.

A quivering sigh escaped him.

He'd thought that maybe if he chose it, while actually fully in possession of his mind, it might be different.

_Or maybe I didn't commit enough for it to work. I tried, instead of succeeding._

A shiver ran down his back. Was he willing to allow himself to fall in love with Vader? He wasn't in danger of it now. It wasn't something that would just happen naturally.

_But I could make him the center of my universe. Pouring effort and focus in, seeking out lovable qualities, oh yes, I have seen it done before. I could teach myself blindness, find a form of wholeness in him._

_I can retain my mind and be miserable for the rest of my days..._

_Or I could abuse it, and find whatever twisted, pathetic version of happiness that might yet remain available to me._

He squirmed out of Vader's possessive hold, wincing as feathers pulled the wrong way. Moving to the window, he finally peered out.

Yes.

There,  _right_ there, stood what had been the Jedi Temple.

What was now a blood-soaked, cursed ruin.

The Emperor had tried to turn it into his palace, but everything continuously went wrong. A place that had once been  _the_ center of peace, a place where simply stepping inside eased the knots out of your shoulders and soothed your mind...

Now...

Now it was drenched in a fear that even the stoutest hearts could not withstand.

Palpatine had given up out of sheer disinterest in fighting  _that_ fight.

So the palace was  _here,_ instead. Where the empty, broken home could be seen, but its shadow not felt.

Obi-Wan wondered if he could make his leash go that far. Whether the Temple's black hole of darkness would consume him, sever life from his body with an invisible knife slitting his throat.

The image didn't seem wholly abhorrent.

A chuckle escaped him as he traced his finger down the window casing.  _Blood and pain and dancing on the edge of death. The only things I have left besides the harrowing memories._

A few options, then— one more than he'd at first thought.

Somehow slog forward. Because he could do good. Hell in everything but name.

_But at least I can alleviate others' burdens, stand between the power mongers and Anakin's willingness to dump power in other hands._

Or he could fight to keep Vader's Empire sane and venomless  _while_ allowing himself to take comfort in Vader. Allow the weariness from too many years mourning to just burn the resistance clean out of him.

_Accomplish the same ends as the other option, but build a false bubble of comfort so that it's not just others who feel relief, but me too._

Or.

Obi-Wan heard an odd noise, one he might describe as a giggle, realized he must have made the sound.

He could embrace the blood. And the pain. And that razor-sharp edge of death so close.

_Might accomplish less good that way, but I wouldn't be needy and broken to Vader's tastes, at the same time feeling something more than the stifling, endless_ dreariness  _of living._

Curious, feeling almost giddy, as if he had too little oxygen, or perhaps too little sleep, or perhaps a bit too much wine, Obi-Wan used the Force to drag a small vase to his hand without looking around.

It made little noise when he cracked it against the windowsill. He drew a shard, pressed the point to his left forefinger, and  _pushed._

When he set the shard down, blood beaded on his finger, a perfect dot of crimson.

A substance that would leave Vader drooling. Something that possessed power over the vampire, something the Sith  _craved._

Obi-Wan considered it. It looked so ordinary. Just like the blood spilled from his ten thousand siblings.

He reached out to the pane of the window, and let his finger slide over the glass, leaving a bloody smear in its wake.

_If you_ choose  _the pain, it's no longer being inflicted on you, is it? He wants your blood, your sex, your companionship._

_What price is he willing to pay for it, exactly?_

_Perhaps I need not suffer alone._

Oh, dear, what would Qui-Gon say to such a dastardly,  _wicked_ thought? Surely one could come to grips with being a slave, with never tasting happiness again  _without_ becoming vindictive?

Obi-Wan raised his finger to his tongue, wondering what his own blood tasted like, when considered apart from a broken tooth or bashed-in lip or broken jaw.

Curious, that such a small thing could hold such power over Vader.

 

* * *

 

Vader awoke to a crawling between his shoulderblades.

His eyes squinted open, wondering why he felt unsafe.

Pale eyes stared into his own.

Vader jolted before he realized Obi-Wan was sitting there, apparently staring at him while he slept.

_Not... not normal._

But not terrifying.

Though Obi-Wan didn't look broken.

There was something... alive... behind those eyes that Vader had never seen before, and certainly wasn't benign.

Something was eating Obi-Wan alive.

_Dear Force, did I heed the warning too late?_

He found it rather difficult to  _think—_

And then Obi-Wan sagged, eyes filling with tears. “What am I? The man who falls in bed with his betrayer?” His wings shuddered, his head drooped.

Vader moved to hold him as Obi-Wan wept, the tears silent and wracking.

“Hush,” Vader soothed. “What's past is past. No one would dare disrespect you now. You're safe. I'm going to take good care of you, I promise.”

He cuddled the angel close, delighted Obi-Wan sought comfort in him, and solicitous for the heart pain.

His gaze drifted up from the head buried in his shoulder to the opened curtains.

It took his brain a moment to register the words written backwards in blood, to be easily read by those outside— crooked and still glistening fresh—

_Hello out there._

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Head on over to my tumblr ( IGaveYouFairWarning over there too) for a drawing I made for this story.


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